


Aces and Eights

by twistedchick



Series: Gamblers' Choice [6]
Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:53:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/twistedchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it ever too late to return to a relationship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aces and Eights

Rifle fire spattered along the top of the stone wall over Nikita's head. Ahead of her, Michael stretched out with his assault rifle, as close as possible to a crack in the wall, seeking the target. He pinned down one sniper with his shots, and Nikita took out another with a quick burst over the top of the wall.

"What's happening there, Nikita?" Birkoff's voice demanded in her ear.

"We're shooting at them, they're shooting at us. Same boring stuff."

The snipers had taken shelter in a stone house, firing through the shuttered windows. As Nikita sighted down her rifle through a niche in the wall, she saw a car leave the back of the house, carrying the man who was their target.

"Birkoff, there's a car leaving from the back of the house."

"Can you get a tracer on it?"

"No. I'll try for a controlled crash." She swerved and shot, but missed the tires. The bullets pinged harmlessly off the metal frame. The car

Michael snapped out a quick burst of gunfire that silenced the third sniper. His mouth tightened grimly. Finding the underground leader in this primitive countryside wouldn't be easy.

The mission had been planned as a quick raid to find the leader of Kerkyra, Ochi Loukanikas, a pro-Bulgarian Greek terrorist, and bring him in for questioning. Now it would become a longer operation

They'd lost communications with Birkoff, in his distant comcenter, somehow while they were pinned down behind that wall. Now that they were able to move freely, the comsets were still silent.

"Birkoff?" Michael said into his comset. No answer.

"Birkoff, it's Nikita. Come in," she said. She heard silence.

Michael reached out and stripped off her comset, shut it off, and handed it to her. He shut his own off and stowed it in a pocket. "They're liabilities now." They couldn't take the chance that someone would trace the signal.

Nikita shot him a wary glance. "You're assuming we can't make it to the next rendezvous within six hours." She tucked her comset safely away in her jacket.

He nodded. "Not on foot. We've still got a job to do."

"Do you think he knows Loukanikas escaped?"

Michael shook his head. He discarded the rifle and hid his Uzi inside his long coat. "We're wasting time. Check the farmhouse, and see if they have any ammo we can take."

"Got it." Nikita ran to the farmhouse, dodging around the bodies. She put an extra bullet in one that twitched and made her nervous. Inside the house, she found a handful of ammo clips that would fit their weapons and a small automatic pistol that she took as well. "Michael," she called. When he came to the door she pointed at the maps on the heavy plank table.

He took them in quickly, tracing the route toward the Kerkyra site in the city, and the fastest road to get there. "We can do that in six hours, easily. It's only 15 kilometers."

"Maybe we won't have to." She pointed to another marked site, slightly outside the city in a war-ruined area, formerly an industrial site on the edge of the mountains. "That looks more likely, doesn't it, and it's on the way."

"We'll stop there first." He picked up a couple of oranges from a bowl and tossed them to her, taking two for himself, and tucked a bag of dried fruit and nuts into a pocket, then folded the map and added it to his collection. Nikita picked up a canteen and a few small bread rolls and stuffed them into different pockets from the ammo clips. The last thing she'd need would be ammo that jammed because of breadcrumbs.

They headed off across the fields, through rocky land dotted with trees and brush. The weather was chilly, and Nikita was glad of her long jacket even though it caught on the rocks at times. It looked enough like a shepherd's coat from a distance that she wouldn't stand out too much against the rocks; only up close would an onlooker notice the zippered pockets, the extra padding and features that marked it as coming from outside the country.

The area was mostly unpopulated as a result of the near- constant wars of the past decades, and they kept to the shadows but walked fairly confidently, making good time. The hills were dotted with small groves of trees among the rocks, and worn trails that could have been made any time in the last century or three. Once the trails grew confused enough that Michael consulted the map just to make sure they were still going the right direction.

"We have to talk," Michael said, as they came through a patch of forest. "Take a break. Have something to eat."

"Oh? You have a plan for when we get there?" She settled herself behind a rock, crouching with her back to the cold stone to stay out of the wind, and started to peel an orange. She pocketed the peels; no reason to give anyone evidence to track them with.

"Not yet. This is something else." He reached for the canteen, took a drink, passed it back to her and brought out the bag of dried fruit and nuts. "How long have you been with Birkoff?"

"A while." So that's what this is about. Nikita waited to see where Michael was taking the conversation. The orange tasted good; she hadn't realized how much she needed the energy boost.

"You're not his only lover."

"I know." She felt him glance at her, and resisted the urge to return the look, instead peeling and eating another section of fruit. "But he's not my only lover either." She licked the juice off her fingers, conscious of the effect this action would have on him -- and not caring.

"Walter." It wasn't a question. He swallowed the mouthful as if it pained him, and reached for the canteen again.

"Yes." She stood up, stretched, and pocketed the last piece of orange peel. It didn't take much thought to know what he'd ask next. "What about us?"

"There is no 'us,' Michael. You've made that clear more than once."

He stood and started to hand her the canteen, but when she reached out to take it he pulled her around to face him. "Isn't there?" She started to pull back, but he held her arm. "You know how I feel about you, Nikita."

"I don't know. You've never said." She tried to pull her hand away. "You're wasting time."

"We're ahead of schedule. This is the only chance we'll get to talk." He loosened his grip. "I need to know how you feel about me."

She pulled the canteen away from him and slung it over her shoulder. "Why don't you start with how you feel about me?" she retorted. "You've never come out and told me anything in words, Michael. Do you even know the words?"

His eyes softened. "I know the words, Nikita." He reached up to touch her hair. "I ... find it hard to say them." "Then don't say them." She turned away to continue up to the crest of the hill, and he followed her.

Total silence, except for their footsteps on the dry ground, crunching a little when they stepped on gravel.

"I love you." It was not much louder than a whisper. "I love you, Nikita."

She stopped in midstep. Putting her foot down gently, she turned back toward him. "What does that mean to you, Michael? How do you think that changes our relationship?"

"I don't know. I've been hoping we could work something out, but every time I try to let it happen you become my weak spot. I can't let myself be weak in Section and stay alive."

"So it seems." He paused as he came around a bend and found a vague trail in the dirt; after a moment he decided it was just a goat track and therefore safe to follow for a while. They were scrambling up a long hillside; once they were over it, they should be in view of the outpost and might be able to see if the Kerkyra leader's getaway car were there.

"Why ... Birkoff? and Walter?" As gently as possible, she said, "They asked me. They were willing to take 'no' for an answer." She didn't say what she was thinking: They didn't assume I would just be there when it was convenient for them.

He nodded. "You've become stronger lately. Is it because of them?"

"Partly," she acknowledged. "But I think it's because I trust myself more now." She thought of Birkoff, only now beginning to come out of his shell after being tortured, trusting her to bring him home to Section One when he was imprisoned. In helping him, she'd grown; in trusting Walter, whose years of experience and cynicism hid a tender heart, she'd learned even more.

As they reached the crest of the hill, they dropped to the ground to see under the windtwisted trees. Below them, behind a thin row of pines, lay a shepherd's stone hut; beside it the escape car was parked.

"Before we go down there, there's one thing I need to say," Michael said. When Nikita turned toward him, he leaned over and kissed her. It was a long, hot kiss, passionate and experienced and hungry for more, and she tore herself away from him with tears in her eyes.

"Why didn't you do that six months ago, a year ago?" she whispered roughly. "You made me think you didn't want me in your life."

"What I want and what I can have are two different things."

She moved sideways, away from him just enough that he couldn't continue the kiss. "Why don't you ever ask for what you want? Why do you always have to assume you can just have me?" She came to her feet. "I'm not your material any more, Michael. I belong to myself now." She started down the hillside, keeping to the shadow of the rocks. He followed, watching her straight back and the tendrils of hair that escaped from her dark knit hat.

They stopped again behind the last large rock before the valley opened up, and Michael caught up to her. "What would you say if I did ask you?"

"That's not a question, that's a hypothesis."

He paused. His eyes on her felt soft as a lover's caress. She hardened her heart against him, thinking of Birkoff and Walter.

Walter had stayed at Section this time, busy outfitting two other missions and working on a special project for Operations. She knew neither of them would object if she chose to be intimate with someone outside their trio -- Birkoff had Gail and the other computer girls when he wanted to play with someone else, and Walter had his own occasional liaisons. But unspoken among them was the understanding that the three of them were a unit, both within and beyond the reach of Section One. Madeleine had alluded to their triangular relationship more than once in briefing Nikita, and had raised no objections; in some ways she had almost encouraged the situation.

All this would change if she let Michael back into the place in her heart that he had once held. Neither Walter nor Birkoff would blame her, but she knew both of them would feel betrayed, as if she'd taken them on only while waiting for Michael and would dispose of them as easily as Section disposed of its unwanted captives once their usefulness was ended.

And they trusted her not to do that.

"If I asked you to be with me, what would you say?" He skidded a little on gravel and caught his balance against the trunk of a tree.

"How do you mean, be with you? Do you mean, be your lover? Be only yours?" She moved on ahead, seeking the source of the faint scrabbling sounds she could hear.

"Yes." She could barely hear him. When she turned to look back, his face was almost as open as when they had been together in that one night of freedom, making love with each other as if it were breath to keep them alive.

"I'd think about it before I answer."

It hit him like a bucket of cold water. He struggled to stay open as her coolness washed over him. "That's probably wise," he admitted.

"I don't know if I want to be exclusively yours." She spoke carefully, choosing her words as much as she was choosing her steps on the steep hillside. "A year ago, two years ago -- yes. Now, I'm not so sure."

"Because things have changed so much? Because of Birkoff and Walter?" He'd never thought he'd have felt jealous of those two, but jealousy burned through him so fiercely he could feel its heat in his hands and face against the chill breeze.

"Because I've changed, Michael. I'm not the same woman you brought into Section." She stopped behind a rock, listening. "I'm making my own decisions now, not ones that you manipulate me into."

A sudden flurry of footsteps made them freeze, until they saw an inquisitive nanny goat peering at them from the top of the rock. They ducked as she tried to eat Nikita's hat.

"You haven't said how you feel, Nikita."

"Damn it, Michael, you do choose your times." She pulled the hat away from the nanny and patted it on the nose as an apology. The nanny rubbed its head against her hand.

"I'm still asking."

"All right." She turned to face him full on. "I came back to Section because you brought me in. I left freedom because of you. I did whatever you asked of me." She caught a breath to steady herself. "You taught me very well, Michael. You taught me to give up my hopes for freedom, and you taught me to give up my dreams for us. So I adapted. I found my own life within Section."

The nanny jumped over their heads and danced up the hill.

"And?"

"You're a good partner for a mission, Michael. You could be a friend. But for you to be more, I'd have to see the man I saw that night on the boat, the one who was willing to let me in behind the armor. I need to be able to trust the people I love, Michael." She let him think about it for a moment, about all the betrayals and the manipulation. "After all we've been through, do you think I should trust you?"

He had to be honest, although it hurt. "No. I don't think you should trust me at all. But --" His eyes were scanning the hut. Was someone moving behind that window?

"What about last month?" he said, almost absentmindedly.

She'd knocked him out and beaten him up while unconscious, then made her own arrangements so that she could turn up at a rape clinic as an authentic-looking victim. He supposed now that Walter had helped her; at the time he'd been angry and upset that she hadn't trusted him enough to know that he would not have hurt her without her consent.

Nikita turned the full force of her brilliant eyes upon him. "If Ops had ordered you to rape me, would you have done it? Would you?"

He couldn't answer.

"Don't do this to me, Michael. Not again."

Someone moved behind the window, a big man with thick hair and a dark beard. Michael's voice shifted automatically into mission mode. "Loukanikas is there, at the window. We'll have to split up. You take the back." He was already darting down the hill behind the trees. Nikita ran between the rocks on the goat path. It ended behind the hut in a circle of old logs near the hut's wooden back door. The corral was empty; she thanked whatever deities were listening that there weren't any more goats to deal with. She crept up to the back door and listened to voices arguing in a language she didn't quite understand. Were they saying something about the van?

Loukanikas spoke in a deeper voice; she couldn't catch the words. But she heard the footsteps moving toward her door. She backed up slightly and pulled out a throwing knife that Walter had taught her to use. When the man opened the door, she paused just long enough to be sure he wasn't Loukanikas before she threw. The knife landed in his chest, right on target, and he dropped in his tracks -- leaving the door wide open with his body blocking it.

Inside the room she could see Loukanikas moving back and forth in front of someone sitting in a straight-backed chair with his hands tied behind him. Was there another person behind the chair, holding a knife? She couldn't be sure.

As the man fell, Loukanikas looked directly at her. She shot him in the leg, then swung around in the doorway to shoot at the man behind Birkoff. Michael's bullet, through the open window, threw the knife-holder against a wall. Michael himself followed the bullet through the window, to stand over Loukanikas with the gun to his head.

Loukanikas stared up at Michael with complete comprehension and hatred. He started swearing in a thick Greek dialect, using words Nikita wasn't familiar with. Michael answered him, saying something even cruder in as thick an accent. Whatever it was startled Loukanikas into silence. Michael pulled the big man to his feet and forced him over to the chair, where he bandaged the bullet wound with rags torn from the dead man's jacket. Michael knocked Loukanikas on the back of the head, and the man slumped into unconsciousness in his chair. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Damn your questions, Michael. You tell me this: did you even think of telling Birkoff to shut off the comsets so we'd have this little time together?"

He nodded slowly. "I thought of it. I didn't do it. Or do you think I'm on his side?" He gestured toward the unconscious man.

She shook her head. "Sometimes it's hard to tell with you. You want to know the answer to your question? You tell me: what do you think my answer is?"

He blinked. After a moment he said, "I don't know."

"That's not it, Michael. The answer is, no, I'm not going to be your one-and-only lover. I'm not going back to the way things were -- the cost is too high."

She thought of the nights she'd spent wishing he were there, the days spent worrying about whether Ops or Madeleine would cancel her because she'd trusted him enough to come back into Section, the long hours spent working to regain her confidence in herself.

"That's only part of what I asked you." His eyes on her were steadfast, pinning her down. "Do you love me?"

"You pick the damnedest times to ask me things." She went out and started the car; it took a moment of wrestling with the transmission before she could get it into gear and bring it up along the side of the house so they could load Loukanikas into the back, tied and blindfolded. She got into the back to keep an eye on the prisoner. "Where's the next rendezvous?" she asked.

"I'll check." He brought out his comset and turned it on. "Birkoff?"

"Where are you guys? I've been looking all over the map for you," Birkoff said in his ear.

"We had a slight detour." Michael read him the coordinates off the map they'd taken. "Mission accomplished. Where can you meet us?"

"We'll go directly to the second meeting place, five miles from you. See you in fifteen minutes or so."

Michael put his comset away, glancing at Nikita to make sure she had also heard the plans. She nodded, never taking her eyes off their prisoner. He sighed, put the car into gear and headed out onto the rocky dirt road toward the place where Birkoff would meet them in the chopper.

They got to the open field just as the helicopter touched down nearby. It was little problem to load Loukanikas into the chopper and chain his handcuffs to a railing inside designed for such duty. "Any trouble, Birkoff?" Michael asked. Birkoff shook his head. Michael gestured toward a storage area between the passenger section and the pilot's area. "I need to check on something in storage. Nikita, you can guard the prisoner." He handed her his machine pistol, and she took it casually. "And the answer?"

Damn him for asking in front of Birkoff. Damn him for asking at all, after all he's put me through. Even though I've grown, even though I've changed, he still can put me through the wringer without even thinking of it, without even seeing what he does to me.

She looked him squarely in the eye, and spoke as if they two were the only ones in the van. "Yes. Damn you, yes. And that's why the answer is no."

Her voice sounded edgy, and Birkoff glanced up at her but saw nothing he could pin down in her expression. He could see Michael's face reflected in the computer screen, and suddenly knew what the question had been.

"We've got to get out of here." As long as they left immediately, the population would assume it was just another military operation from someone's army, and would probably hide rather than check it out. Some wars went on too long.

Michael nodded, his eyes on Nikita, and went through the door toward the front.

"Should I ask?" Birkoff made his voice casual.

"Not worth your time." She shuddered as if shaking off small creatures crawling up her arms and back. When she finished she looked just as she usually did, in control and concerned for him. "Everything go all right?"

He nodded. "No problem." Loukanikas was starting to wake up. She noticed his eyes moving, opening, looking around the van in surprise and alarm. "Kyrie Loukanikas, we're taking you to Section One," she said in everyday Greek that she'd learned in a compressed-time language course the week before. Loukanikas slumped back against the seat. Whatever he'd heard about Section One hadn't made him eager to be their guest. She couldn't really blame him.

"Is there going to be a problem, Nikita?" Birkoff asked carefully, not looking up from the computer.

She knew he was watching her face reflected in the screen. "No problems, Birkoff. None at all."

He knew he should believe her, if only because of their pact: no promises, no lies. He knew she believed what she said was true, and maybe it was. For now, he would trust in that, but he would still keep a weather eye on Michael, just for the sake of caution. He'd been in Section One longer than she had, and he knew the unspoken rules well: never turn your back. Whether Michael knew of his dislike didn't matter; Birkoff would still do his job as he always did, running communications and guiding operatives. But that didn't keep him from turning up his internal radar one more level, just to make sure things stayed reasonably calm and safe.

Nikita smiled at him. "How soon until we're back? I could really go for a pizza after debriefing."

"Sounds good to me. Pizza for three?"

"Probably for two. I think Walter's still working."

Birkoff looked up at her and smiled.

The chopper sped onward into the growing darkness of late afternoon. In the storage bay, Michael turned off the intercom he'd left on, and let the tears of frustration roll down his cheeks without wiping them away. It didn't matter. Nobody would see him allowing his feelings to get the better of him. By the time he was back in Section for debriefing he'd have reassembled the mental shielding he lived behind, and not even Madeleine would be able to see how close he was to breaking. He'd do his job. He swallowed hard, and took a drink of water from the van's water bottle. It helped.

After all, there wasn't anything he could do. He'd trained her too well, and she'd learned to make her own choices based on his behavior toward her. In his heart he couldn't blame her for choosing anyone else.

But that didn't change how empty he felt inside.

**Author's Note:**

> This story departs from series canon during Season Two on US tv (1998-1999), and was written at that time.
> 
> I borrowed the name 'Ochi Loukanikas' from Mary Stewart's novel, 'The Moonspinners' (which was not a children's book, despite what Disney did with the movie). In that novel, it's a phrase that one of the characters says when he's asked if they're being followed; the phrase is a transliteration from Greek, with the literal meaning of 'not a sausage' (nobody is following.) I thought it would make a fine name for a meatheaded villain.


End file.
